I don’t think you realize how much your words affect me. You keep telling me things and I can only handle so much. Sorry its my fault I was molested, sorry its my fault I was bullied, sorry it’s my fault I’m so messed up. But what do you care, right? I mean, you yourself told me I was nobody. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just disappear forever, because I can tell you one thing. I am tired of living. Is that my fault, too?